


One More Time

by EnigmaOfShipwreckIsland



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Major Character death?, Makkachin Dies (Yuri!!! on Ice), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Depression, Tags Contain Spoilers, Work In Progress, very much work in progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27929137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnigmaOfShipwreckIsland/pseuds/EnigmaOfShipwreckIsland
Summary: Victor Nikiforov woke up to find the other side of the bed empty. Of course it was. Most mornings, he found himself sleepily reaching across to that side, only for his hand to feel nothing but the comforter and sheets he’d purchased after the accident. Occasionally, his hand did find someone there, though never the right person. Though the guys he picked up at the bar always had similar inky black hair and almost familiar brown eyes, they were never anything more than a one-night stand.They would never be Yuuri Katsuki.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (^_^)/~~~ 
> 
> So this has been bouncing around in my head for a few months now. I actually lost the first draft of this chapter when my old Macbook crashed and wasn’t planning on rewriting it. This morning, I was planning on working on getaway car and Broken Hourglass, and instead ended up rewriting this. 
> 
> *pushes tissues closer*

Victor Nikiforov woke up to find the other side of the bed empty. Of course it was. Most mornings, he found himself sleepily reaching across to that side, only for his hand to feel nothing but the comforter and sheets he’d purchased after the accident. Occasionally, his hand did find someone there, though never the right person. Though the guys he picked up at the bar always had similar inky black hair and almost familiar brown eyes, they were never anything more than a one-night stand.

They would never be Yuuri Katsuki.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. If the universe worked the way it was supposed to, he would have been waking up to Yuuri snuggled up in his arms. At this point in their lives, he knew that he would be retired from competitive figure skating and Yuuri would either also be retired or preparing to. That was how it was supposed to be. They should have become the best coaching couple out there, eventually retiring to live the rest of their lives somewhere where they could have lots of poodles. If either of them should have died first, and not together as an old couple, Victor felt that it should have been him.

The universe does not work that way though. It didn’t care that Victor was older. It didn’t care that Yuuri deserved so much more time. It didn’t care that they were on their honeymoon. After years of being the couple everyone assumed had secretly eloped at some point, they finally married in a beautiful ceremony under the blooming sakura trees in Hasetsu. It was a small event, only family and friends, though they did set up a live stream. Over a million people saw their first kiss as husbands surrounded by cherry blossom petals fluttering in the breeze like confetti.

They went on a cruise for their honeymoon. It started out perfect. They used the onboard gym in the mornings (Yuuri insisted on at least keeping up with part of their routine), before spending the rest of the day to watch the ocean waves around them as they stood on the deck, Yuuri leaning against his chest. That particular day, Victor finally convinced Yuuri to wear a sun hat. Just as he expected, his husband(!) looked absolutely adorable and he had to get as many pictures as possible. The sun was just setting, the light gold around the younger man and making his eyes shine in that magical way only brown eyes could. Victor had to capture this moment. “Yuuri! Smile!”

“Again Vitya?” Yuuri asked with a laugh as he turned, his fingers touching the floppy brim of his hat to keep it in place.

Then a rogue wave hit and Yuuri was gone.

Victor tried not to think of that as he sat up in bed. That last photo sat in a frame on his nightstand. A larger print was used at his memorial service. His parents kept that print. The last time he went to Yu-Topia, it was hung in the lobby with the display case showcasing all of their son’s medals and certificates. It’s what Yuuri would have wanted.

Victor gathered the bedding in his arms. They didn’t smell right. The guy the night before wore too much body spray and far too little deodorant. Not that he wasn’t planning on washing everything anyway. He always threw his sheets and blanket into the washer in the morning. He didn’t want his bed to smell like yesterday’s stranger.

A dog bed still sat in the corner of every room, dusty and unused. Makkachin passed just about a month after they lost Yuuri. “Old age”, the veterinarian simply told him. “Heartbreak” seemed to fit better. Makkachin adored Yuuri from the moment she saw him. Sometimes, he used to joke about the poodle liking him more. Sometimes, he believed it. When Victor returned without Yuuri, their girl spent the entire day watching the door, waiting for the other man to walk in. For her last few weeks, Victor watched as she perked up every time she heard someone walk by their door, only to sink back to the floor when it didn’t open and Yuuri didn’t walk in.

When Victor found her that morning, Makkachin had fallen asleep on the floor, still watching the door.

Still smelling alcohol and last night’s mistake on his skin, Victor dragged himself into the shower for the first time in weeks. He stopped in front of the mirror. If anyone saw him like this, they might not even recognize him as Russia’s Living Legend. He’d lost weight. His silver hair was overgrown, making even less sense than it did before. The eyeliner smudged around his eyes reminded him of a panda, or of Yuuri when he passed out on the hotel room bed after winning silver at their first Cup of China together.

One hot shower later, Victor threw on random shirt and sweatpants before dragging himself to the kitchen for breakfast. Lately, breakfast consisted entirely of a bottled mocha-flavored protein shake and a cup of coffee. He counted the bottles in his refrigerator, making a mental note to order more. Maybe he should try a new flavor. The strawberry looked interesting.

Then there was a knock on the door.

Victor sighed, resting his forehead on the cold refrigerator door. He didn’t want to answer the door. He knew it was whoever spent the night. Yakov had a key and wouldn’t bother knocking before letting himself in. Yuri hadn’t been over since he lost Makkachin, and barely stayed long enough to over his condolences before running back to the elevator. No. Whoever it was was likely someone he didn’t want to see ever again. So, he ignored it. Even as there was another knock, more urgent this time, he just stood in the kitchen as he untwisted the lid of the protein shake. Maybe if he was quiet enough, the stranger will give up and leave.

Instead, he watched the snow falling outside the large windows. Yuuri used to love to sit on the padded bench in front of that window and watch Saint Petersburg. Victor could imagine him there, wrapped in their comforter and Makkachin draped across him. He could imagine his husband sipping his coffee as he watched the snowflakes flutter to the ground like the cherry blossom petals. On good days, Yuuri would then pull his legs up, a silent invitation for Victor to join him. On bad days, Yuuri may not notice Victor watching until the older man was next to him, and then he would lean against him to be held.

When Victor finished his shake and realized there were no more knocks, he decided that last night’s regret must have left. He prepared himself a cup of coffee and made his way to the living room, where his once clean coffee table was covered in dirty take-out containers and books with their receipts folded up and tucked in to mark the page. None of the makeshift bookmarks made it even a quarter of the into their book.

He barely sat down when he heard the key slide into the lock. Yakov. Victor braced himself for his former coach’s weekly lecture about wasting his skills. That he should be passing his knowledge on to the next generation of figure skaters. That there are skaters just as worthy of his time as Yuuri Katsuki was.

Victor knew that Yakov would not understand that Yuuri was more than a breathtakingly beautiful figure skater. No. His Yuuri was so much more. To Victor, he was the sun, the moon, and all of the stars. He was the northern lights in the winter and fireworks in the summer. He was thunder and rainbows. He was the silver lining to Victor’s grey cloud of a life. Yuuri Katsuki was gone, and no one would ever measure up to him in Victor’s eyes.

“Vitya! Didn’t you hear me knocking?”

Victor froze. He knew that voice. Every night, as he drifted off to sleep with a stranger in his bed, he longed to hear that voice just one more time. Still, he held his breath as he stood and slowly turned his entire body. It felt as though this was a dream and a sudden movement might shatter it, leaving him reaching across an empty bed again. Watching TV for even the slightest mention of him. Taking home guys from the bar that looked similar enough to pass as him for the night. Always searching for him, despite knowing that he would not be there. Except he was.

“Yuuri?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll update this...eventually...I hope...*fingers crossed*
> 
> Title is from the song _One More Time, One More Chance_ by Masayoshi Yamazaki.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (^_^)/~~~
> 
> By the way, I forgot to mention that the version of One More Time, One More Chance that inspired this work is from the 2002 single. The 1997 one is nice, but I think the live version feels more authentic(?) Like that version is able to express the lyric’s emotions better? 
> 
> Anyways, onto the drama:

Yuuri Katsuki stood there, shivering from the cold. He looked exactly as Victor remembered, down to the same clothes. Canvas flip-flops that they got on the cruise ship after Yuuri’s old plastic ones finally broke. Cargo shorts that Victor secretly hated (“why so many pockets?” he remembered asking when he saw his husband pull them on). The tropical-themed polo covered in bright red hibiscus flowers and green leaves (the matching one still hung on Victor’s side of the master closet). The floppy hat that had frost on the edge of the wide brim.

If there was one thing he wished he could change, it was that hat. He hated that hat more than anything. He hated that he bought his husband that hat, knowing that Yuuri would feel pressured to wear it even if he didn’t really like it. He hated the fact that, if Yuuri hadn’t been so concerned with the sea breeze trying to blow that hat off his head, he would have had a better grip on the railing.

He saw him go overboard. He saw those beautiful brown eyes go wide in horror as their fingertips barely brushed, then he was gone. Gone. They searched for weeks. Though the search had turned into a recovery within hours, Victor remained hopeful. He stayed at a hotel close to the US Coast Guard base, struggling to keep telling himself that his husband would be alright. That he would somehow be found alive. That Yuuri would run into his arms like he did at the airport after he had to leave him in Moscow because Makkachin ate that sticky bun. For what felt like forever, but was really barely less than a month, he tried to be hopeful, but then his coach literally showed up and dragged him onto a plane back to Russia. By then, the search had officially ended.

By then, they didn’t even expect to find any remains.

“Vitya?” Yuuri’s voice was filled with amusement. “You’re staring.”

Victor took the few steps to his husband. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t actually be happening. This had to be some kind of crazy vodka-induced dream. He didn’t want it to end. As carefully as possible, Victor reached for Yuuri’s hands. They were warm and soft, as always, and a little wet from the snow. When he lifted them up to his lips, they smelled like Yuuri’s cherry blossom lotion, with the slightest hint of seawater.

Victor suddenly wrapped his arms around his husband, his hands gripping the back of his cold, damp shirt in tight fists as he pulled them both to their knees on the dirty floor. It was like something inside him started cracking the moment he saw Yuuri again and just smelling the salt water that took him caused the great Victor Nikiforov to finally shatter. He couldn’t let himself fall apart like this before, with no one there to hold him together like this. To rest their chin on his head and lightly rub circles on his back as he sobbed uglily into their chest. To press a kiss into the part of his hair so softly it may not have even happened. To whisper words that he couldn’t quite process, but the sound of which were enough for the moment.

They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms until Victor managed to calm himself enough to notice Yuuri shivering. He pulled himself back, rubbing Yuuri’s bare arms with his hands to warm him up. He knew it wasn’t enough to work, but he didn’t want to stop touching him. A part of him was scared that, if he let Yuuri go for even the few seconds it would take to grab the throw blanket from the couch, he would disappear again.

That could happen, right? If Yuuri could suddenly reappear like this, surely he could vanish just as quickly.

“Coffee,” Victor said as soon as the thought appeared in his head. His voice worn from the surely ugly sobbing he had done into Yuuri’s already wet shirt. “Do you want coffee?”

“I need a bath first,” Yuuri stated, smelling himself.

“I’d love a bath!”

Yuuri smiled. “You just took a shower. I can smell your shampoo.”

“We can take a bath together after coffee!”

“Vitya, I don’t want to wait that long,” Yuuri half whined. He did look uncomfortable, shifting himself away from Victor as though worried that if he stayed close to him for a moment longer, they would both smell bad. As if they hadn’t just been clinging to each other as though for dear life. “I smell like fish.”

“I love fish!”

“Victor….”

* * *

Somehow, coffee and then bath had turned into lunch in the bath. At least, that was what Yuuri finally talked Victor into for the Russian man to let him go for a few minutes. Which would have been perfect (it always took some time for Yuuri get the bath set up to his standards (which not even Victor could replicate to his liking)) if there was anything to cook. Victor hadn’t realized how empty his kitchen really was until that moment. Sure, Yakov had offered to take him grocery shopping and had told him about grocery delivery, but truthfully Victor had perfected the art of only half listening to his coach years ago.

Now, after finding a pack of protein cookies, a box of meal-replacement bars, and about three cobwebs in his otherwise dusty cabinets, Victor couldn’t help wondering if he should have paid attention.

Then, just as Victor was about to admit defeat, he saw the colorful stack of take-out menus that hung from the red clip magnet. He always had a couple of menus from his walk home from practice. After Yuuri moved in, they had added a few more that they collected while exploring Saint Petersburg on their rest days. Victor had no idea when he managed to collect that many. At first, he didn’t even know where that magnet came from, but then he saw the rink name and knew Yakov had brought it at some point.

“Vitya?” Yuuri called from their bedroom.

Victor smiled as he looked through the menus. He wanted to make sure there were no expired coupons before bringing them to Yuuri, who would surely decide where to eat based on where they would get the best deal. “Yes?”

“Do we have enough time before you need to pick up Makka?”

Victor froze, the menus fluttering out of his hands onto the kitchen floor. After a long moment of silence, Yuuri walked out of their room and into the kitchen, tying the belt of the fluffy bathrobe that had waited for him right on the chair where he left it two years before. He must have seen the way Victor’s smile dropped, because then he stopped and asked, “Makka is at the groomer’s, right?”

“No.” Victor didn’t know what else to say. Yuuri didn’t know. Of course Yuuri didn’t know. Yuuri was supposed to be dead when Makkachin died. He wasn’t supposed to have to tell Yuuri. The only person he actually told was Yakov, simply because he was the first person he could think of calling after finding her. He was the only person he could call for help taking the dog to the vet’s office for cremation.

Victor didn’t mean for his eyes to drift to the small wooden shrine in the corner of their living room. At first, it was just for Vicchan, though Victor had added a photo of Makkachin to the same shelf. A photo of Yuuri from his first Japanese Nationals win after their engagement, with his ring shining in the camera flashes as he kissed the gold medal, sat on the shelf above the dogs.

“Victor?”

Oh no. Slowly, Victor turned his attention back to Yuuri, who was staring at the shrine. He watched as his husband hesitantly walked up to it. He watched as he touched the frame holding their beloved poodle’s photo with trembling fingers. Then he saw Yuuri hesitate again, this time at the incense ashes in front of his own photo, before picking it up.

“Victor, why is my picture here?”

“Yuuri, it’s-”

Suddenly, Yuuri was on the floor. The picture frame broke on impact.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I don’t think I mentioned this but this fic is actually based in 2021 with the idea that the series took place in 2015 (makes math easier for me). Victor and Yuuri were together for four years, two years [mystery], then Yuuri reappears.
> 
> Victor is 33  
> Yuuri is 29 (though this might be a bit…fishy (^_-) )  
> Yuri just turned 21

It had been a year or so since Yuri last saw Victor. He had been on his way to the apartment he’d just moved into with a bag of dry cat food, when he ran into his former rink mate. He almost pretended to have been too distracted to notice him. It was hard to see him without thinking about how alone he was. The space beside Victor that Yuri was so used to being occupied by Yuuri was left empty. There was no Makkachin tugging on her leash to greet him. There were no smiles. No half-hearted apologies when the poodle tried to pounce on him. No grins from Victor. No questions from Yuuri about his day, if he ate a proper lunch and how his virtual school work was going.

Instead, there was the empty shell of the Great Victor Nikiforov, unshaven and dressed in wrinkled clothes that smelled too strongly of detergent, his tired-looking eyes never quite making contact with his during their short conversation about the team and Yuri’s silver at Nationals. He did invite Yuri to come with him to the same bar he’d been seen at every night since his husband’s memorial in Japan, but Yuri refused. He didn’t want to spend another minute with Victor, not if it meant watching the man looking right past him as though looking for someone else. Searching for Yuuri.

Yuri sometimes caught himself looking for the Japanese man as well. At the end of the day, when he and the other skaters were in the locker rooms preparing to go home, he half expected to hear another set of skates scraping across the ice. When grand prix assignments were released, he couldn’t help looking for “Yuuri Katsuki” right after his own name. He missed threatening to kick his ass where they assigned the same events, and the smile he received every time. He missed the couple wishing him good luck from the sidelines when he stepped onto the ice.

When Yakov returned from his office after a sudden important call and announced that the rest of practice was cancelled, Yuri didn’t think anything of it. He had a well-deserved rest day the next day. This felt like an unexpected but very welcome extension of that. He didn’t give it anymore thought until he saw the team physician walk through the rink doors. Doctor Antonov never came unless someone was seriously injured or there was a new skater that Yakov wanted evaluated. Since there was no one on the ice yet, Yuri assumed it was the latter.

Then he caught the name Nikiforov.

“Can you believe this shit?” Yuri shouted into his phone. “Two fucking years, and the old man thinks he can just waltz back into the fucking ice.”

“Yura,” Otabek tried.

“Fuck him.” Yuri tugged his shoelaces too hard, the pained cry slipping out as the sides of his sneakers pressed against his bruised feet through his socks. “Fuck Victor. Fuck his new boyfriend. Fuck-”

“Yura.”

“It hasn’t even been two whole years yet, Beka,” Yuri mumbled, looking down at his skate bag. A dirty plush onigiri keychain hung from the zipper. At first, every senior-level figure skater clipped one onto their bag in honor of Yuuri Katsuki. For the first season after his death, those keychains were brought to every medal ceremony. By the next season, only about a handful of skaters still had theirs. Yuri was the only one of the Russian team to still have his on his bag. “How can he just…replace Katsudon like that?”

“Victor can’t mourn forever. He needs to be allowed to move on,” Otabek reasoned gently. Yuri’s voice of reason. Sure there were other people that tried to guide him, but somehow only Otabek got through, most of the time. “You need to let yourself move on.”

Yuri sighed forcefully, purposely loud enough to be heard through the phone. It hadn’t been long enough to just move on. He was sure it was too soon. It still hurt too much to even think about it. To think of how much duller everything was because Yuuri wasn’t there.

When Yuri got his university acceptance letter, Yuuri and Victor weren’t there to celebrate with him. The rest of his rink mates couldn’t stop congratulating him. Even Yakov and Lilia praised him. Yuri knew he should be proud and made sure to smile at the praises, but by the time he returned home that night with all of the ingredients for katsudon pirozhki, he couldn’t stop the tears. He didn’t even make the pastries, didn’t even eat that night. Or the next. Or the one after that. Eventually, he had to throw everything out when they started to spoil.

Yuri broke Yuuri’s free skate record by a single point. While the crowds cheered and Yakov gave him one of the biggest hugs of his life, he felt nothing. He was proud to have accomplished that feat. He was scared that, with that taken away, people would forget Yuuri Katsuki even faster. Yuuri Katsuki deserved to be remembered.

“Yuri?”

“What.”

Otabek sighed on the other end. “I was just asking that you give the new guy a chance,” he said, not even trying to hide his exasperation.

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll tell him to fuck himself tomorrow.”

“Yuri, please?” Then Otabek shouted something off the phone, before saying, “I have to go. Got a set tonight.”

“Yeah. Good luck Beka.” Yuri knew Otabek would hang up before he even finished. By the time he lowered his phone, it was already back to the lock screen. It was a selfie of the two of them in a dimly lit café, leaning over a table with paper cups and half-eaten pastries. He hoped that they could talk longer. That they had more time together. That Otabek would try a little harder to get to their events together earlier and stay later so they could do more than sneak a meal together here and there. That they were more than just…whatever they were.

Of course his thoughts were interrupted by _that_ voice. The Return of the _Great_ Victor Nikiforov. The moment he heard that cheerful voice, Yuri wanted to throw something at him. He threw his skate bag over his shoulder and stormed out, ready to yell at the retired skater. How dare he sound so happy? How can he be so cheerful, as if everything was alright? Did he even care about

Yuuri Katsuki stopped at the entrance to the locker room, having nearly walked straight into Yuri. His eyes were red from crying and there was a noticeable tremble in the hand that held his skate bag. Likely post-panic attack. He looked Yuri over, then smiled as he commented, “We’re the same height, Yurio.”

Truthfully, Yuuri had prepared himself for a number of reactions from the younger man. He was ready for shouting, for threats. He was ready for slaps and kicks. Insults. He was even prepared if Yuri decided to just storm away. He wasn’t prepared for the blonde to grab his shoulder and pull him into a tight hug. He wasn’t prepared for the Ice Tiger of Russia to bury his face in his Team Japan jacket. He wasn’t prepared for the tears that accompanied the softly mumbled “what the fuck.” It didn’t take long for him to start stroking his back though, like he had done earlier with Victor.

Yuri pulled back faster, though still kept his hands on the other man’s shoulders as he looked him over once. Then once again. “What…how…where the fuck have you been, Katsudon?”

Yuuri shrugged. Then he reached into his pocket. “I found this in my pocket earlier,” he said as he placed something in Yuri’s hand.

The 2015 Grand Prix gold medal. Yuri stared at it, trying to remember the last time he saw it. Was it during the move out of Lilia’s? Before that? Maybe he left it during one of those nights he spent with Victor and Yuuri after a long photo shoot. Photographers did seem to enjoy having the skaters display their gold medals. That had to be it.

“I should get dressed,” Yuuri said as he slipped around the younger man. “Hopefully we can train together soon?”

Yuri nodded, suddenly wishing he could stay longer. That he didn’t have a rest day the next day. Yakov wanted all of his skaters out though, and he did have a paper that was due in two days to start on. He decided to stop by the couple’s apartment later instead. Unless Victor changed the lock (unlikely) or stopped hiding his spare key under the door mat (also unlikely), he could make some katsudon pirozhki for them. It had been so long since he made that!

* * *

Yuri tossed the gold medal in his hand as he walked down the few steps to the street. He winced a little when it smacked into his palm. It wasn’t the sting of the hard medal that made him stop in his tracks though. The blonde stared at the medal in his hand as though it was a foreign object, suddenly realizing why it had been so long since he last saw it.

After Yuuri Katsuki’s memorial ice show in Hasetsu, Yuri threw the 2015 Grand Prix gold medal into the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Details of the memorial ice show will come later. (^_-)


End file.
